


You're a little kinky, Sam

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Sam, First time (technically), M/M, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets transported into one of Sam's wet dreams. And it's about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a little kinky, Sam

Dean hated stupid fucking universes and complicated time travel shit. He’d prefer to stick to simpler hunts, thank you, like werewolves or vampires or some other bullshit. Hell, right now, he’d even take a nasty-ass witch as opposed to this job. But no, they had to run into another god, a god of fate or some other cheesy shit, and now he was in some other universe, “learning a valuable truth” as the stupid egomaniac asshole had put it before knocking Sam out and zapping him to who-knows-fucking-where. Before Dean could even begin to try to fight his way loose from his bindings and help Sam, he was tipping over, his vision going dark as he was pulled under.

He didn’t know what he was doing at a shitty high-caliber gala-party thing, but being surrounded by so many politicians felt very close to being surrounded by Leviathans. He had been wandering around uncertainly, hovering at the edges of posh little groups that gave him the stink-eye, trying to think of a reason why a creepy higher power would’ve chosen to bring him here. Alone.

Suddenly, something caught his eye.

Dean strode quickly over to the bartender standing still behind one of the various white, frilly tables. “Hey, dude,” Dean muttered quickly, grabbing the man’s attention, “who’s that guy over there? Next to the lady in red?”

The bartender leaned forward, pretending to shuffle some bottles in their cooler. “Him? I don’t know why you wanna know about him, but you should stay the hell away. I know this is all political shit and you’re probably trying to make friends and become a senator or some shit, but not him. Choose anyone else from the fishbowl of boring narcissists.” The man looked around, leaning back, acting overtly casual.

Dean stopped himself from backing up in surprise. Instead, he simply quirked an eyebrow, trying his damndest to make eye contact with the bartender instead of gawking at the man. "Uh, why?"

“Well, not only is he a congressman, which means evil already, but he’s a rich and powerful one. And powerful in the wrong way. He’s very professionally associated with some dangerous people, man. He once trained as an assassin. I’ve heard rumors he was involved in governor Atkin’s assassination.”

Dean’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish as he took in the information. That was fucking impossible. That didn’t sound right, didn’t sound realistic. Hell, it sounded like the polar opposite of reality. Why didn’t he just go up to the guy himself? Why didn’t he just talk to him and find out the truth? Maybe he knew what was going on here, what was up with Dean.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t him.

“What’s his name?” Dean asked finally.

“Winchester,” the bartender spat out, “Sam Winchester.”

Dean made his decision, thanked the bartender and tipped him atrociously, and strode confidently over to Sam.

He was mid conversation with some old white guy in a similar suit, discussing something that sounded horrendously boring and absolutely right down Sam’s alley.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean butted in cheerfully, Sam stopping midsentence and restraining a glare aimed Dean’s way. “Can I speak to you for a bit? Pressing matters. Scary things. The usual, I know.”

Sam smiled thinly at the other man. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” he asked politely, before grabbing Dean’s arm so tightly Dean was sure he had popped some veins. Sam led him away from the center of the mass of people, toward the edge of the ballroom. Soon, they were hidden from view by an artful but essentially useless column.

Sam shoved Dean roughly up against the wall.

“I don’t know what your fucking game is,” Sam hissed venomously, “But I’m going to fucking politely ask you to leave or I’m going to fucking shoot you in the face right here and now.”

For the second time in five minutes, Dean was at a loss for words.

“What?” he choked out quietly against Sam’s arm held to his throat. “I don’t-”

“Of course you _understand_ ,” Sam growled, “Why now, Dean? It’s been nine fucking years. You try to grab me at Stanford, can’t take the hint, I force you to leave. Do you still have the scars? Do you really wanna think about what’ll happen if you even try to associate with me at all? Fucking christ, stay out of my life. Jesus,”

Dean blinked once, twice. Sam definitely _looked_ serious, but he wasn’t making any sense. Nothing he had said sounded like him. He wouldn’t have said no to Dean, wouldn’t have hurt him, and certainly wouldn’t become a dangerous senator. This wasn’t logical, Ma’at or whatever her name had been was fucking with him. She had to be. Things were off for a reason, right?

“But,” Sam said, quieter and calmer, interrupting his thoughts, “If you’re just here for _that_ , I suppose I can humor you if it’ll make you hit town for several months again,”

_Several months? What? What the fuck was ‘that’?_

Dean felt like he'd somehow lost his grasp of the English language, or he or Sam (or both) were insane. He was so damn curious about what his brother was spitting. Might as well find out.

“Uh yeah,” Dean managed to stumble, “Just don’t murder me. Jesus, calm down, Sammy. It’s just me, your brother? The one you adore?”

Sam laughed mirthlessly. “Funny,” he said, before leading Dean again, but this time out to a shiny Maserati parked by the curb.

Dean whistled. “Nice wheels. Mine are better, though,”

Sam didn’t respond. He walked over to the driver’s side and got in. Dean took the hint and got in the passenger seat, feeling a billion times more out of place than he had before he saw his little brother. Nothing was making any fucking sense. Maybe, when they arrived wherever they were going, Dean could tell Sam the truth about where he was from and they could puzzle out how to get him back there together.

Immediately, Dean doubted Sam would be down for that.

In whatever parallel universe this was, things were seriously fucked up.

About fifteen minutes later, Sam parked in front of a penthouse apartment building on Fourth Avenue in New York City. Dean couldn’t stop gawking, even as a butler took his coat and let them upstairs to a modern kitchen/family room open floor plan thingy. Dean wasn’t one to know about interior design, but even he could tell the collective value of this place and everything inside it were worth billions.

Sam tossed off his suit jacket and threw off his tie. He kicked his loafers off, chucking them to the side. He looked up and down Dean, analytically, found something funny, and smirked.

Dean felt uncomfortable.

Without warning, Sam stepped forward, grabbed Dean by his shirt collar, and kissed him roughly on the mouth. His tongue went everywhere, just as fucking bossy as this Sam was. Dean made a noise of surprise and pushed at Sam’s chest, forcing him back.

Obligingly, Sam released him, frowning at him. “What the hell was that? You said you wanted it.”

Oh. So that’s what ‘that’ was.

Fuck.

Dean didn’t think it was possible to be any more surprised than he had been earlier, but here they fucking were. Before he could formulate a response, or even a single word with vowels, Sam crept in closer again, smiling with the first sign of positive emotion Dean had seen all night.

“Stupid,” he said in a tone that could maybe be described as “lovingly”, and kissed Dean again, gentler than before, slipping his hands up Dean’s shirt and down his back. His fingers reached his belt loop, went under and went lower, possessively squeezing Dean’s ass. From that vantage point, he pushed Dean closer until they were pressed against each other. Dean could feel his hard dick rubbing against Sam's as Sam began slowly grinding against him.

_Fuck._

Sam pulled his lips away from Dean’s and Dean couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “Why are you so fucking reluctant?” Sam whispered breathily, leaning his forehead against Dean’s and staring into his eyes with dark, unbridled want. “Stop teasing me. C’mere,”

Dean found himself wanting to do everything Sam said in that low, sexy voice. Every single tiny movement Sam made hit Dean right below the belt buckle, and he didn’t think it was possible for someone to make him so fucking horny, let alone his _brother._ Something about him was ridiculously irresistible, and the fact that this seemed wrong and strange and dangerous made it that much better.

He hadn’t thought about Sam like this before, really (that much). Sure, he had the capacity to admire his brother-- anyone with eyes could see that Sam was attractive (he was just being logical). And Sam didn’t really have a gender preference, so his atmosphere at a bar drew all takers. Being an older brother, Dean often mistrusted those who Sam chose to be sexual partners with, but that was as far as it went (not really).

But now, Dean couldn’t see himself with anyone else, couldn’t stand the thought of Sam with anyone else. The only thing that mattered in the whole entire universe was the sound of Sam’s chuckle against his lips when Dean moaned like he was dying and grinded fervently against his little brother.

Abruptly, Sam shoved him back, chest heaving and face lined with sweat. Dean whined, he fucking _whined_ , and made to bring Sam closer.

“No,” Sam gasped, already working at the buttons on his shirt, “we aren’t going to get anything done here,”

Unbuttoning as he walked, he pushed open a door which led into a stupidly posh and uppity bedroom with a massive bed in the center like the holy grail. Sam waited for Dean to trail behind him like an obedient puppy, kicked the door shut and tugged his shirt off, tossing it into the corner of the room.

_Jesus Christ._

Sam was fucking _ripped_. He was all tan, muscled skin, glistening with sweat. His antipossession tattoo was missing, but a snake curled up his left side, from his hip to his pecs. It somehow made his waist seem that much slimmer, his hips that much more defined. Dean felt his cock twitch in his pants, and realized he was staring when Sam cleared his throat.

Sam was smiling at him alluringly, obviously glad that he was having an impact on Dean. “Well?” he asked softly, looking at Dean’s own shirt.

Dean made a fucking fool out of himself, desperately ripping off article after article of clothing until he was standing there naked.

Sam grinned at him, pupils blown with lust. He took his time letting his eyes rove over his brother hungrily, and Dean found himself anxious, hoping he was enough for his brother.

Sam slowly slipped his own belt off and unbuttoned his pants, sliding them and his boxers off at the same time. His dick popped out, long as hell, head red and wet with precome. He stepped lightly out of the clothes and Dean didn’t care to see where they went.

Sam was shaved-- _everywhere._ His body was bare and defined, legs just as tan as the rest of him but ridiculously skinny. Sam stepped forward slowly, lids lowered as he stared at Dean.

“Don’t you wanna stop looking, and do something about it?” Sam murmured, sliding his hands around Dean’s waist and nuzzling his neck. Dean swallowed nervously, and Sam laughed quietly, biting Dean’s neck.

“Yeah. Oh Jesus, yeah, Sammy. Wanna fuck you all night." Dean swallowed, his heart thundering. "I wanna feel you everywhere and listen to the sounds you make.”

Sam kissed him for a hot second at the corner of his mouth. “You’re shit at talking dirty," he rasped. "But come on already, stop stalling and fuck me already.”

Sam allowed himself to be pushed roughly back onto the bed, bouncing against the sheets before Dean pinned him down with a rough kiss, biting and pulling at Sam’s lower lip and taking quick gasps of breath before kissing his brother again.

Dean kissed deeper and deeper, hands finding Sam and holding them over his brother’s head. He plunged his tongue deep into Sam's mouth, and Sam opened up for him, let him take control. His vision almost went white as he felt Sam’s hips rising up against him, Sam’s dick warm against his own. Their hips swayed in tandem, and Sam wrapped his skinny little legs around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer. Dean would’ve come from the grinding alone if Sam hadn’t reached beneath the pillow and pressed a small bottle of lube into Dean’s hand.

Dean gave Sam one more wet, desperate kiss before leaning back and sitting up, opening the bottle and slathering his fingers with lube. He let the bottle roll of the bed and scooted back, purring deep in his throat as he pushed Sam’s legs apart.

“So pretty for me, baby boy,” he said slowly, running his hands up and down the inside of Sam’s thighs.

“Get on with it,” Sam panted angrily, reaching down and guiding one of Dean’s fingers to his hole.

Dean was burning up, and he was gasping for breath, but he obliged, tracing around Sam’s hole before slowly pressing in, building up a slow rhythm.

Sam mewled and keened, swaying and trying to lower himself down onto Dean’s finger.

“Calm down, princess,” Dean laughed, teasingly slowing his fingers down.

“You assho-” Sam started, but Dean suddenly pressed another finger in and slid them in and out faster and faster, cutting Sam off and turning his whines into a loud, long moan. Above him, Sam fucking writhed, chest sinking and rising quickly as he gasped for air and made noises that should be illegal, and Dean was going to hell but he might as well enjoy the ride down.

“I can’t fucking take anymore of this,” Dean gasped, adding a third finger only for moments before taking his dick and pressing it to Sam’s entrance, grabbing Sam’s legs and hefting them over his shoulders.

He pressed in, rocking his hips, leaned forward and began to kiss Sam again, the action pushing him even further in.

Sam broke away, eyes threatening to roll into his head. “ _Deee,_ ” he groaned, arching up against Dean, “Dean, please, faster, Dean, I--”

Dean was enjoying the role reversal-- he knew that now he had power, and whatever he ended up doing Sam would go with. Sam would obey.

“What, baby?” he asked innocently, struggling to keep rhythm and not just let go and fuck Sam into oblivion, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Sam whined and squirmed, hands clawing at Dean’s back and futilely trying to push Dean further into him. “Dean, I… Dean, oh god…” his voice trailed off into a series of gasps, and he swallowed, moaning so loud it was almost a yell. “Dean, I’m begging you,” he pleaded, whimpering, “Fuck me harder. Please, please, please, please…”

Dean swallowed his begging with another kiss, and buried himself balls deep in his brother, building up speed until the bed was shaking beneath them, the ornate posts slamming into the wall with a _thunkthunkthunk_. Overwhelmed, he went back and forth between sucking at Sam’s collarbones and messily kissing him, hands wrapped up in Sam’s long hair and tugging. His balls were slapping loudly against Sam's rim.

If he was a mess, though, Sam was something worse, never quiet, never still. He was always moaning and yelling against Dean’s kisses, desperately kissing back or throwing his head back and screaming Dean’s name, hands almost drawing blood at Dean’s back and his body moving with Dean’s. When he wasn’t grabbing at Dean, he was grabbing at his own cock, stroking it quickly and needily.

And if that wasn’t the hottest shit in the entire world, Dean didn’t know what was.

He fucked Sam for as long as he could, relishing in the electric feeling, but he could feel his climax coming, and knew Sam was close too as his loud moans and cries turned into rapid gasps and little choked noises.

“Sam… wait, Sam, Sammy, Sammy, I…” Dean bit his own tongue. “Fuck, Sammy…”

“I know,” Sam choked, “me too, Dean come on,”

They came together, foreheads knocking against each other. They stayed connected for a moment, slowly coming down from the crazy high, getting their breaths back.

Dean pulled out slowly, come leaking out of Sam’s ass, and Sam’s legs fell off Dean’s shoulder, spread wide on the bed. Dean hovered uncertainly above Sam, mouth hanging open.

Sam’s hand moved to Dean’s cock, running from base to head, squeezing and finishing him. Dean did the same for Sam, and collapsed on top of him. They laid there in silence for several moments, just breathing, before Sam tugged at the back of Dean’s head and kissed him lovingly for a long time, kiss number one blending into kiss number two until they lost count.

Dean kissed back for one last moment before detaching himself and rolling over to lie next to Sam. They were both sticky and covered in slick, but Dean didn't mind.

Sam’s hand found his and held it, which Dean found adorable and cheesy and vulnerable, but Dean held Sam’s hand in return, enjoying the simple feeling.

He dozed off like that, on Sam’s come-stained ten-thousand dollar sheets, Sam warm and pressed up against him.

He woke up cold and achey and on hard cement somewhere.

He sat up with a grunt, blinking his eyes shut as he grappled with what felt like a migraine.

His memory surged back to him, and he started, eyes shooting open wide. He was back in the factory with that Egyptian asshole, and Sam was sitting across from him, handcuffed to a pipe on the wall. Sam was looking at him with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

“How many different universes will I have to throw you into before you realize the truth?” Ma’at demanded, looking between Dean and Sam.

Sam was still staring at Dean, but there was something else beginning to flicker in his eyes.

“You two dance around each other like idiots, when you dream of the same thing. You, Sam, I gave you Dean’s dream. And Dean, I gave you Sam’s. Never before have I had a case with so much denial. You two need to get it out of your pants. Jesus! I can’t believe I get summoned after millenia of sleep to deal with this shit. Fucking ridiculous.”

And then Dean realized why Sam was looking at him with what he now decided was lust. The cuffs clicked off and Ma’at disappeared. "Use a condom," her voice echoed sternly as she faded away.

Dean stood up, his knees cracking.

“I can’t believe you dream of fucking me in a tunnel of love ride. That’s fucking nasty, dude," Sam told him, getting up and rubbing at his wrists. He moved over to Dean, close enough that Dean could feel his warmth.

Dean coughed into his elbow awkwardly. He shrugged.

“...So, Motel?” Sam asked uncertainly, not even bothering to cover up his erection.

Dean nodded, cheeks burning. “Oh yeah. Motel.”


End file.
